Caught in the Crossfire
by RowlingTribute91
Summary: When Alma Coin was seventeen years old, she had everything to gain. And everything to lose. District 13 has already been decimated by bombs and disease. When another unthinkable event rocks her world, she finds herself torn between family and the boy she's incredibly attracted to. Will she soon become the corrupt president that we love to hate?
1. Chapter 1

It always happens around this time of year.

My eyes are glued to a television screen as the countdown begins. Twenty-four people stand on podiums, surrounded by wintery forest and mountains. Awaiting their deaths.

"Here it comes," Electra says beside me.

Xavier sighs loudly. "Happy Hunger Games."

"And may the odds be ever in your favor," I reply.

Yes, we watch the Hunger Games here in District 13. How can we not, when it's our fault the Treaty of the Treason was signed? We used to be massive; but now, thirty years after the rebellion, our population is small enough that we can all fit inside our five hundred square-foot commons area. This is where we eat, catch up on the latest Panem news, and listen to my mother speak. My mother, Isolde Coin… I guess you could say she's the President of District 13. Yeah. No big deal.

She stands to address the district before the countdown finishes; her silver hair tied back, her cheeks wrinkled with sternness.

"And why are they forced to endure this?" she asks.

"Because of us," we all say.

"Never forget that, District Thirteen. We're the lucky ones, in my opinion. Be grateful that we survive and thrive, without worrying about our children being sent to die. Out there is pure chaos." With ten seconds left on the countdown, she straightens her military suit. "Watch and see what we've done to them."

"Let the bloodbath commence," I whisper to Electra. My twin sister cringes, squinting. She's much more squeamish than I am.

"Tell me when it's over, Alma."

I snap my fingers in front of her face. "Better not let Mom catch you with your eyes shut or you'll be on sentry duty again…"

"Ugh. You always pull that card because you know I hate going up there," she says.

I can count how many times I've seen the sun on one hand. Every person's done sentry duty at some point; watching for possible invasions, gathering anything salvageable that remains of the bombings; and the occasional refugee.

Xavier, who sits on my other side, is a prime example. Mom thinks he originates from District Thirteen just like us, and that he lived amongst the rubble. Those are the only refuges she's interested in housing.

He's actually a citizen of District Twelve. And so, so, _so_ _extremely _handsome, I've gotta say. When I first saw him, his olive skin tone didn't equal my impression of what District Twelve people look like; still, he says his old neighbors were just as tan. 'The Seam', he called his home. Compared to him, my skin's as white as chalk. He wears his brunette hair down to his chin.

"Fresh air is exactly what you need," he tells Electra.

"It's not that I hate the outdoors," she argues. "It's the danger… We get Capitol hovercars above once in a while; most of the buildings that still stand are loose and could fall on you; oh, and did I forget to mention the radioactive zones? They're everywhere."

"Put it in perspective, Electra. We're not the kids who are about to kill each other," I remind her.

Just as I say this, the Hunger Games takes its first tribute; a girl, dead from a knife in her back.

Xavier sighs. "I knew her."

"I'm sorry," I reply softly. My fingers tap his knee briefly, and he doesn't shirk me off. Instead, our eyes connect. He has a unique condition that colors one iris brown, and the other blue. I'd be lying if I said they didn't enchant me.

"Look at them," he says, nodding back to the screen. Tributes are murdering one another with sick precision. "Animals."

"Well, they don't exactly have a choice," I say.

"I know. But that's not how I'd try to win. I'd fight only if I were attacked."

"Which they all have to do, eventually," Electra points out.

Blood starts dripping down her nose. She wipes it away quickly, but there's no denying what I just saw.

"You're getting sick," I say.

"No, it's nothing."

Yeah right. That was how it began for our older brother, Jason, and our father, Theseus. They both died of a terrible disease, which spread around District Thirteen like wildfire. A downside to living underground. No cure was perfected until Electra and I were thirteen. Unfortunately, Jason and Dad had already passed away. Jason was only sixteen. A year younger than I am right now.

I don't feel lucky to have survived.

Onscreen, the snow-covered arena is now tainted by ten mutilated bodies. I can't tell if all of them are dead yet; but ten cannons tell me otherwise. That bloodbath took just under five minutes.

It's time for tributes to settle down and save their energy, because the next trial could come sooner than they think. Some form alliances; some run off by themselves. I'm kind of interested in the guy from District Six: Titus. He single-handedly killed three tributes, wielding a scythe like Captain Hook uses his prized hook hand.

The TV suddenly goes blank. Mom holds the remote, waiting for our attention.

"Listen, everyone," she says. "While nothing major's happening onscreen, I need to make an announcement.

"For the past thirty years, we've maintained a peaceful existence. We're just coasting by. How, may I ask, can we learn our lesson, when the _rest_ of Panem has to pay the price year after year? It's true, we were bombed; our homes were completely obliterated; thousands of people died. But I'll confess to you upfront: I don't think it will have any impact on our future generations."

"Oh no," I whisper.

Wow, am I nauseous all of a sudden. The muscles in my body are tightening like weights. I hate where this is going…

"We should've been included in the Hunger Games. District Thirteen needs their own yearly reminder; their own tradition. The Council and I have developed a perfect solution, which is going to start when the Hunger Games are over.

"I call it Thirteen's Battle. Every boy and girl, from the ages of twelve to eighteen, must submit their names into a drawing. I'll select two boys and two girls. Each competitor will face off in a battle with their own gender; Boy versus boy and girl versus girl. The victors will be given extra food for their families, and they'll get brand new suites.

"But, like the Hunger Games, Thirteen's Battle isn't just for bragging rights. This is a fight to the death. One boy and one girl will die."


	2. Chapter 2

"What?!" I exclaim.

Pandemonium erupts, and no one keeps their opinions to themselves:

"Were you drunk when you decided this, Coin?"

"You're no better than the idiots in the Capitol!"

"I thought you _cared_ about our kids!"

No kidding. My own mother just turned her back on me and Electra. Betrayal fits her like a glove.

"Let me finish!" Mom demands of the crowd. "There are some rules I need to discuss. Some things that are different from the Hunger Games. The participants in Thirteen's Battle are allowed their weapon of choice, excluding guns. Feel free to start training now. I won't hold that against you. I think it's also fitting that we refer to the selected people as tributes." Her voice is emotionless. I don't know why I'm so surprised at her apathy; it's what leaders must do sometimes.

You have to surrender your own heart in order to protect the hearts of your people.

"However," she continues, "this will be over much more quickly than the Hunger Games. The two tributes will keep going until one of them is dead. Plain and simple. I predict each battle won't even last half an hour. Each battle is scheduled for separate days, resulting in a two-day affair. Girls go first; then the guys. And lastly, we won't accept any volunteers."

"That's bull," I mutter.

"That's life," Xavier replies.

My mother holds firm to her announcement, raising her arms to command the district farther. "I'm gonna put the Games back on and go to my office. If you wanna talk with me, please do so _calmly_. Any attempts at hurting me will result in your execution. Long live District Thirteen."

"And long live the Coins," everyone replies, as is the custom. Drones obeying their master.

Yeah… I might as well say it: Electra and I are next in line to lead. Well, if you wanna get technical, Electra is next. She's older than me by three minutes. We have a government where the presidential position is passed on hereditarily. My grandfather was first, piecing together the remains of District 13 after their rebellion. He'd already been our mayor, so everyone agreed to make him the head honcho. When he died, my mother, his only child, took over. He was very adamant about this. Mom's been prepping us since birth.

People start leaving in droves once she's gone and the Games return. Electra, Xavier and I glance at one another warily.

"We have to submit our names," I say, twirling a piece of my crimson locks. "You know what that means? We could die because of Mom's stupid decision! How desperate do you have to be to register your children for death?"

Electra grabs my face. "Alma! Calm. Down." Our red hair, sea-green eyes and freckles are identical down to the last dot, allowing me the illusion that I'm looking at myself.

"Do _not_ ask me to calm down!"

"Will you shut up and listen to her?" Xavier suddenly exclaims. "She's got the right idea. They're only picking four people. The odds of getting chosen are slim."

"That's what tributes tell themselves, just before they're reaped!"

"If it makes you feel better, I learned some hand-to-hand skills back in District Twelve. I can teach them to you. They're very basic, but useful."

"Thanks," I reply instantly.

"Can you teach me, too?" Electra asks.

"Yeah."

This alleviates my worry. For the moment, anyways.

* * *

I quickly discover that Xavier knows what he's doing. He kicks my butt in every single fight. Somebody taught him well- and illegally, I might add.

Can I blame him, though? He's spent most of his life thinking that he'll one day have to fight for it. If this Thirteen's Battle thing actually becomes an annual tradition, he only has this year to worry about.

Not me. With two years of possible slaughter in my future, I've got to choose a weapon. I think knives are versatile enough for me. You can use them long distance or short distance. And I seem to have a knack for it. I kinda… lost track of how many bulls-eyes I've scored. Xavier has taken up the axe-he used this a lot in District 12- while Electra selects the bow and arrow.

My District 12 friend seems nervous when we meet for today's practice. He's wringing his hands and scratching his head repeatedly.

"Um… What's up with you?" I ask him.

"I'm sick of lying about who I am," he admits. "I've been here for almost a year, but most people don't know my real story. It's gone on long enough. Tonight, I'm gonna tell Pres- I mean, your mother- I'm gonna tell her that I'm not really from District Thirteen."

I suck in a breath. "How do you know she won't shoot you on the spot?"

"I don't."

Okay. I'm gonna pretend he didn't say that- (My mother has to be reasonable! She knows I care about him!)- and get to work on beating him, for once. It's become my main mission in life. So I take up the fighting stance that he taught me: turned at an angle, right knee lunging, my arms crossed over my chest, and my fists clenched.

"If she does that, she'll have to answer to me," I reply.

"Oh man, Alma Coin is one angry woman!" Xavier says happily, adopting the same pose. "It's sexy."

Hold up. Let the records show that he called me sexy. I am mentally fanning myself. Unlike me, he's got a total boxer physique. _I_ should be calling _him _sexy.

"Ready? Aaand… Let's go!" he declares.

I throw the first punch. Xavier drives his fist up to block me, as usual. I swing the other fist right at his jaw while he's distracted.

Yes! I got him!

Then, he slides his foot under my ankle, propelling me down. But I trip him in return. Xavier's weight lays entirely on my body.

So hard to breathe… not that I care.

"This is awkward."

"I don't know," he teases. "I kinda like being here."

So do I. Even if I'd never admit it. He's driving me crazy, with those beautifully mismatched eyes, and the long hair that I wanna run my fingers through. I could just…

_Nah. _Instead, I say, "You're such a boy."

Only Xavier and I would laugh off a moment such as this. And we do.


	3. Chapter 3

Sleep. Ha. What is that? I don't get any sleep that night. I'm too busy worrying about Xavier. Breakfast is hazy at best; I nearly dump salt in my oatmeal, instead of the usual sugar.

Electra hands me the sugar, chuckling. "You okay, Alma?"

"Had a rough night," I reply. "Too stressed about… you know…"

I can't mention Thirteen's Battle by name; not when I'm in a room with the woman who announced it into being. Mom's sipping coffee by the door. It's about time for her to leave. But before she does, she clears her throat.

"So… Xavier Jarvis gave me an interesting bit of info last night…"

"Yeah?" I ask, keeping my voice normal.

Electra's curious. She has no clue about Xavier's true upbringing. "What did he say?"

"He said that he never lived in District Thirteen before the bombings. He was born and raised in District Twelve."

"Oh. Really?" Please tell me I don't sound as if I knew this already.

"Somebody tipped him off about our underground society, and after his family died, he said he wanted to find this place so he'd be free."

"I can't blame him," Electra says. "The rest of Panem… it's like a horror story. I would've tried escaping first chance I got. Will you punish him for it?"

"Well… I… Xavier's underage. No guardians. I'm not happy he lied to me, but he's proved himself extremely useful in the butcher house. I think losing his family is punishment enough."

Dang. He just dodged a bullet.

"You're going soft," I joke.

"It's called maternal instinct. He reminds me of… Jason. I know you girls remember what today is."

A tear. A sniffle. All three of us letting bittersweet memories enter our minds.

It would've been Jason's twenty-first birthday today. My brother was a goofball. He knew how to make me laugh when I had a bad day; didn't tease me if I wanted to talk about boys or other girly stuff. A true ladies' man, but not in the way you might think. Jason treated girls right. So did my father. The best guys any sister or daughter could ask for. I'd give anything to see them walk through the door, alive and well.

Today, my mother will announce the tributes of Thirteen's Battle. But that won't happen until after lunch.

The Hunger Games are down to ten tributes now. Titus, the District 6 boy I've been rooting for, is on his own. No allies. He's good at fending for himself. I think I'd probably be that way, too. Can't trust anybody when only one is allowed to live. He comes across a dead tribute; the District 10 girl, if I recall. The boy looks ready to pass out from hunger. Not much vegetation exists in this cold arena; so he hasn't found anything edible in a long time. Sponsors have given him the majority of his food. But he's too impatient to wait for more. With a knife, he… cuts through the body. And takes a piece inside his mouth.

Okay. He just crossed the line.

Everyone around me shares mutual disgust, covering their eyes or keeping their heads down. He goes back for more; and doesn't show signs of stopping anytime soon. But the Gamemakers have other ideas, I discover. The mountain behind Titus crumbles down like a tidal wave, crushing him underneath before he can adopt any course of action.

Another cannon; another tribute down.

* * *

All of us eligible for Thirteen's Battle are rounded up and sent to the front of the commons area. We were told to wear black, as a symbol for the Dark Days.

Mom ascends her platform. Blank-faced. An assistant carries the name bowls.

"Good afternoon, District Thirteen," she says. "I know this must be a difficult day. But I take no pleasure in it, either. It's time we acknowledged our mistakes and atoned for them. I'm going to start with the girls."

She sticks her hand inside the girl's bowl. Electra and I squeeze each other's hands as the first name is drawn.

"Chloe Blevins," she announces.

Chloe looks about sixteen years old. I don't know her very well, but the fear in her eyes is contagious. I know I'm not out of the clear yet. She walks towards my mother, her blonde braid swinging behind her.

Once Chloe's standing by the platform, Mom picks girl number two. She reads the paper silently, and I see her swallow hard. This can't be good. She only does that when she's genuinely upset. No, no no no no-

"The second girl tribute is…Electra Coin."

Why, oh _why _did she forbid volunteers? The Hunger Games allows it! My bottom lip quivers slightly.

But Electra's fierce. She can win. Isn't that horrible of me, to disregard Chloe as a human being? I just… I don't know what else I'm supposed to feel. In the case of murder vs. being murdered, killing is the better choice, I guess. Electra might argue differently.

The first boy selected? Thirteen-year old Raines Kettle. With his spindly figure, I bet he wouldn't last five minutes in the Hunger Games. Maybe he has something clever up his sleeve. I doubt it. Whoever he faces will probably be older, and therefore, stronger.

I'm unprepared when Mom announces the second boy: "Xavier Jarvis."

This is a joke. This is a horrible, sick joke. Xavier keeps calm; shakes hands with Raines just as Mom asks. All four tributes force a smile. I know what they're thinking.

Might as well go out in style.


	4. Chapter 4

One shot. Two shots. Three shots. Ten shots. Electra gets all her arrows on the target within a minute.

"You're so good," I say, grinning. And despite the impending death match, I really do feel optimistic for my sister. I hadn't seen her in action until now.

She offers me a grimace. "Hey, I do the best I can. Didn't know I'd discover a hidden talent along the way."

"When you come back, you should totally go hunting."

"_When_?"

"_Yes_, when. Not _if._"

Thirteen's Battle is about to go down. It will occur in the place Electra fears most: Above ground. They'll be taken up one at a time, so they can conceal themselves. Finding each other is half the fun, apparently. But they can go no further than a thousand yards; as designated by markers that we installed. A fence would draw unwanted attention. When you step on the markers, they glow and vibrate. We'll be watching from below. I'm assigned to escort my sister.

From the wall speakers comes an automated voice: "Electra Coin and escort, please report aboveground."

"It's time." My sister breathes in deeply, closing her eyes.

"You'll be great," I assure her as we ascend to the 'arena'. The words are… more for my benefit than hers. I know she's afraid, but on the outside, she seems calm. Ready. I believe in her.

"There's no such thing as greatness in this," she mumbles.

I'm too afraid of ruining what could be my last moments with her; so I don't tell her how I really feel.

In the case of kill or be killed, I'd most definitely kill. Without question.

Our elevator stops deep inside a sewage tunnel. Above this tunnel, the only thing separating us from land is a cement staircase.

That stench. Ugh, what an awful, rancid smell. Electra and I, being of one mind, plug our noses in unison. There must be centuries of human waste down here. This stuff single-handedly contributed to the plague that took my brother and father. It kept seeping through our ceilings, dropping onto food… We've fixed the problem, but, as I know all too well, it wasn't without sacrifice.

Electra coughs violently for a good minute. She's been hacking up mucus frequently as of late; another plague symptom. Still, we ascend the stairs and break out, onto level land. Radiant beams of sunlight strike me square in the eyes.

"Dang, that's bright!" I exclaim, squinting. "How does everyone else in the world handle so much sun?"

My sister shrugs. "They just… _do_, I guess; and we can, too. It's in every human's biological construction. Let's not forget, we're probably among the only people on Earth who don't live up here."

True enough. Slowly, my eyes adjust; and I exhale deeply. Oh, sweet, fresh air. It's been too long. Now I can fully assess the ghostly, yet beautiful ruins of my district.

You might think the bombs destroyed everything; so there aren't any real hiding places. Wrong. I heard my grandfather refer to this place once-the place it used to be. New York City. A vast concrete jungle; where every so often, you'll find structures sturdy enough for shelter. Grandpa chose this as District 13's new home because of an underground train system they'd created back when the United States of America existed- I think he called it "the subway". _And_ it was the largest subway America had ever built. A smart choice. It provided the perfect frame for construction workers. He told me it was difficult to begin with, knowing that they must avoid Capitol eyes. People made their homes in the subway for a few years, while their new lives took shape.

If I thought _that_ was intricate… Imagine New York City! I daydream about it a lot, actually. Humans aren't supposed to live like moles. We crave adventure.

Which, of course, is why we're here.

Electra and I share a long, suffocating embrace.

"Hey," I say, "I know this probably doesn't mean much, and maybe it sounds dumb, but… May the odds be ever in your favor."

Suddenly, her body language changes. She's not slouching anymore. She has a new spring in her step; with a confident smirk to match. "Are you kidding, Alma? That means everything. Surviving against the odds? It's what we've always done, isn't it? We could've died; Grandpa Dex could've given up on reviving District 13, and we wouldn't ever have been born. But still, we fought. _I _fought. And I won't stop now. I love you."

"I love you, too, sis."

And so, reluctantly, I must leave her.

* * *

The commons area practically buzzes with nerves. I sit by Xavier, who- be still my heart- is letting me hold his hand. Everybody watches as Electra searches for her perfect hideout. Cameras are planted at several points along the rubble; and tributes must give the three-finger salute when they're ready.

She finds herself in what probably used to be a… what's the word? "Bar"? I hear people would come to drink themselves silly there; swap stories; whatnot. There's a tall counter, behind which are toppled, rotting shelves. Electra knocks the shelves away, but the counter holds. Brilliant. She crouches underneath. Then we see her raise three fingers. Sometime later, another camera captures Chloe's salute. Though neither of them know it, the tributes aren't even a block away from each other. Chloe holds a knife, her weapon of choice. Two other throwing knives are holstered in her belt.

_Beep, beep, beep_ go the cameras. The final signal. Thirteen's Battle has commenced.

Chloe takes off, unknowingly, towards Electra. Electra doesn't move from her spot. She connects the arrow to her bow, and waits. Archery is about patience, and the small perimeter ensures that they'll meet soon, anyways.

It takes all of two minutes before my sister hears Chloe enter. She jumps out, releasing an arrow. Chloe dodges Electra's attack and prepares to throw her knife. Focused. Exhaling. Relaxing herself for better accuracy.

"Watch out, Electra," I mumble to the screen. "Duck. Anything."

She finally unleashes her blade on Electra… oh man, I wanna scream. But my fear switches to relief. Girl can't throw correctly. The knife pierces the right wall; nowhere near Electra, thank goodness. She throws again. And a third time. They still don't land where she was aiming for. Chloe runs to retrieve them, huffing with frustration.

With her back turned, she doesn't know that Electra has already shot another arrow. And it flies cleanly through Chloe's neck. I can tell the exact moment of her death, as her body falls into permanent numbness.

Battle over.


	5. Chapter 5

Electra's victory is celebrated with a giant feast in the commons area that night; and I indulge like I haven't eaten for weeks. Ironically, Electra hardly eats any of the food. I can sense guilt already settling inside her. She keeps looking back at Chloe's family. Their eyes are all red from crying.

"You didn't do it because you wanted to," I remind Electra. "And they don't blame you; never forget that. Her mom told you so."

"It's so easy for you to accept that, isn't it? Well, excuse me if I can't accept the fact that I'm a killer." Her voice comes out bitter. Icy. For now, I decide it's best to leave her be.

Time crudely shoves me into the next morning; the morning when two boys must fight in the male version of Thirteen's Battle. Since Mom is so nice-Haha, don't make me laugh- I get to escort Xavier.

When his name rings out, he pulls his axe from the target that he's been practicing on. I straighten my jacket, walking to the door.

"Oh boy," I hear him mutter. "This is really happening. Can you believe I came here to escape this sort of thing? Irony."

I nod, grimacing. "I just wish things could be like they were… before the Dark Days. It wasn't perfect, but at least our continent was safe then."

"Yeah. Just, the thought of killing Raines… He's too young. You know, he's been my friend since he found me half-dead in that field a year ago. I owe him my life. And now, I'm supposed to take _his_ life as a way of saying, 'thank you'? What's the purpose here?"

Xavier drops the axe for a moment. I guess he wants to say our farewells here, instead of under the camera lens.

"Alma," he tells me, "Regardless of who wins, whatever the other girls might put in your head, there's only girl I really want to win for. That's you."

I feel frozen in place. What do I say? Somebody, help me. I think he's admitting to having feelings for me!

My reply isn't quite as eloquent as I'd hoped it would be: "Well… Good-"

"Stop. Don't even start with that."

Suddenly, there's no space between us at all. I feel the pressure of his lips overpowering my lips. And darn it, I wanna completely give in to him. _So_ badly. I grab him by his shirt collar, pulling him against me. It's all I can do to show some restraint. The constant flirting; the subtly intimate gestures; they've finally escalated to a kiss- in the worst-possible scenario. Bad timing. Still, I've got no regrets.

"Wow," he says breathlessly when he releases me. "I didn't think you'd kiss me back."

"That was for good luck," I reply.

Somehow, Xavier's brown eye radiates affection; but his blue eye twinkles with mischief. "Then I wonder what you'll do if I win…" He offers a wink.

"Come on, Romeo," I chide, grinning. "As much as I'd love to _show_ you what I'd do… we've got to go."

* * *

_Beep, beep. beep._

And there go the last of my nerves. I bite my fingernails as Xavier's face appears onscreen. He- and his rival, Raines Kettle-are on the move. Raines has chosen to carry a club. It's probably half his size, which, in other circumstances, would make me laugh. Instead it just makes me depressed. His limbs shake with every step, wondering if Xavier could be around the corner.

Raines finds him inside an old grocery store; way at the back, pacing through a refrigerated food section.

The boys are hesitant. I imagine that's exactly how the first Hunger Games began. Just a minute-long staring contest. Chloe and Electra were basically strangers, but not Xavier and Raines. So… who's gonna take action first?

That would be Raines. He swings his club near Xavier's shoulders, and Xavier sways backwards from the impact.

_Crunch. _Some bones have been cracked- by Raines, of all people! That's the last time I underestimate somebody because of their age. Xavier stands his ground; and he swerves his axe towards Raines' chest. Raines jumps to his right, missing the blade narrowly. He comes away with merely a shallow wound. Impressive, I'll give him that.

How am I supposed to root for someone? Would it even be humane? I cheered for my sister, and look how she acts now. She's just a skeleton.

All loyalties are cast off as Xavier punches Raines straight in the nose. Raines doesn't fall. As a matter of fact, he offers another blow at Xavier; targeting his legs.

_Cruunch. _ Horrifying moans.

Stop it, Raines! I can't lose Xavier!

My friend (or, should I say, _almost_-boyfriend) is unable to walk. But he still swings and swings, hoping the axe will reach Raines. Xavier's opponent earns a deep gash just above his stomach. Another one near his right hip. Raines persists in wailing away at Xavier with the club, wincing from his own injuries. Testing the limits of a human body.

If I didn't know any better, I'd say I am watching the Hunger Games. Not a single person around me is cheering, laughing, or smiling. As expected. Only a handful voted for Thirteen's Battle. The rest of us radiate fury and despair. Couldn't this death match possibly cause District Thirteen to rebel again?

Count me in.

For people who claimed they were repulsed by violence, Raines and Xavier aren't concealing their inner brutality. They're both so bloody now, so locked in combat, that I can't even tell who is who anymore. I nervously anticipate the moment when one tribute will lie dead. It originally seemed that Xavier had victory locked up for himself, but Raines isn't the wimp he appears to be. Either boy might win. I give up on staring at the screen. Too awful.

Electra prods me harshly. "Open your eyes, Alma," she jokes in a serious tone. Mocking me.

"Oh, like you haven't done it, too. Wasn't I _just _reminding you of that a few weeks ago, when you were tuning out the Hunger Games?"

"We didn't play a part in it," Electra reasons, "So it was completely different. Refusing to watch Thirteen's Battle is like telling Mom you-"

"I don't care," I snap.

However, my ears are widely alert. And they detect… Silence. Which can only mean that someone's heart is no longer beating.

"Alma…"

"I know," I mutter. I slowly shift my gaze back to the screen. The boy who survived rises, and my entire world spirals out of control.

It's Raines.


	6. Chapter 6

A week. Xavier died a whole week ago today. Sometimes, I still feel his kiss burning my mouth. Waking up just sharpens the pain. I'd rather live in my dreams, where Xavier is very much alive, and we're together at last. But District 13 wouldn't exist without every single citizen doing their part. I'm one of the district's record-keepers- not by choice. Just another requirement from my mother. Every morning, I type out reports of the food supply, population, and other resources. Yippee.

Mom and I eat breakfast in awkward silence. You could smash a hammer through such tension, and it wouldn't break. We've hardly spoken since Thirteen's Battle (or should I say, 'Battles'? It's more accurate). A few words are strung out each day, none of which run deeper than: "Do you want something to drink?" Yeah. That's how it's been. I want the woman to suffer along with me.

My sister is the only reason I remain under this roof. She can't go a minute without coughing up all kinds of awful stuff. A doctor's visit confirmed my worst fears: Despite yearly immunizations and tons of medications, the plague has infected Electra. And yet she's insisted on going about like everything's normal. Thankfully, you're almost never alone in District 13. Somebody could get help for her if she suddenly had a seizure or collapsed. Plus, just because she's sick doesn't mean she'll die. Medicine does wonders.

But that doesn't ease my worries about the fact that she's not here.

"Have you seen Electra?" I finally ask my mother.

Mom raises her eyebrows, perplexed. "She's got her shift at the gardens today. I thought you remembered."

"Kind of hard to remember little details like that," I hiss, "when two of our people were murdered last week."

"Would you quit pining over this boy already? He's dead."

See, this is what I mean. She thinks grieving makes a person weak, that acting tough is how you get anywhere. I don't even recall seeing her weep after Dad and Jason passed.

"It's not just Xavier, Mom," I say. "It's Chloe, too… What made you think you had the right?"

"Well, young lady, I _am _president, and leaders are free to make their own decisions, even if the people disagree with them. Take the District Twelve boy. I didn't actually pick his name."

"You didn't actually pick his name," I repeat.

"No. I had a different boy's name, and I just… called him up instead."

"Why am I not surprised?" I mumble.

"You shouldn't be, Alma. It's your fault."

_Ignore that_, I think. _Ignore anything she says. _

"How the heck is it my fault? I never wanted people to die."

"You really don't get it, do you, Alma?" she spits. "_I know you kept Xavier's secret from me_. You need to improve lowering your voices when you don't want anybody to hear you, because I overheard you two about a month ago; talking about his life in District Twelve. But you took that well. Clearly, he told you everything prior to the conversation."

_Let the guilt sink in_, is what I hear. I could've chosen to never mention District Twelve by name, and forbid words associated with it like 'coal' or 'mining'. Xavier might be standing beside me today if I had. Perhaps he'd still have been doomed after revealing the truth to my mother. But I didn't sell him out… which makes me a traitor. Nothing is worse, in Mom's eyes. Years might go by before I can gain back her trust.

"Okay," I confess, "I'm sorry for not coming forward myself. However, I'm not sorry that I protected him! Your rules are heinous. What does it matter if he lived in District Twelve? He was a refugee like everybody else we've accepted; and wasn't the whole underground design meant to be a safe haven? Instead, you give us our own version of the Hunger Games."

My mother walks forward, meeting me nose to nose. "Watch yourself, Alma Isolde Coin."

She says nothing further; and I remain still as she walks out the door. Paralyzed. I wish things could return to how they were when I was little. When she didn't take drastic measures for her own benefit. When she'd stay with me if I couldn't fall asleep, and she kissed me goodnight. There's always a chance she might become that mother again.

But I know what I have to do.

* * *

Documenting our resources is usually draining- and unbelievably tedious! Not today, though. My work shift breezes by. Among the paperwork I must go over, there's a folder labeled "Room Assignments". Inside, I discover a few rooms that remain vacant. Just what I hoped for. Later, I'll ask Electra if she wants to room with me, so I can have some peace of mind. She and our mother shouldn't be in our suite again until dinner's finished. Not that it matters. I don't own many items.

By dinnertime, I've settled into the new room, and as I eat, I feel accomplished. My life is under my control. For once.

A hand touches my shoulder- Mom's.

"Hi," I manage to say.

"Alma. I stopped by the suite and I found all your things were gone. Care to explain?"

"I moved out," I reply defiantly. "Max got me my own room. I'm seventeen, so, you know, I can handle it."

"Oh." For a split second, she looks a little… melancholy. Then, it seems, she accepts my defiance. I guess even wicked people have limits. "You are more than capable, yes. So long as you continue fulfilling your responsibilities and you consult me whenever you're considering another major decision."

"Of course," I promise.

"You're not off the hook, though."

I know what punishment she's got in mind. "A week of sentry duty?"

"A week of sentry duty," she confirms.

I knew she didn't completely hate me. It's a mother's prerogative to be hard on their children. But she's deaf, blind, _and_ dumb if she thinks I'm going to forgive her.

She bustles away, towards the podium, and she turns on the television. Nothing out of the ordinary; we catch up on news just about every day at dinner. And yet, there's no Capitol seal, like I was expecting. Two camera feeds appear onscreen, where two _very_ familiar people are portrayed, dressed in black, strolling through a ruined city. One carries arrows over her shoulder and a bow in hand, her crimson locks tied back. The other, a young boy, holds a flogging stick.

I guess my mother wasn't happy with two victors, after all.


	7. Chapter 7

"Attention," the president announces to us, "As you can see, Thirteen's Battle isn't really completed yet. Not until only _one_ victor remains."

You know what? It's official. This woman is not my mother. I'm _beyond_ upset. I'm _beyond_ frustrated. _Beyond_ angry. She'll be lucky if I ever speak to her again. How could she not let me say goodbye to Electra? We both know she won't make it.

"Raines!" I hear his mother wail. "My poor boy!"

All of District Thirteen is in uproar, voicing our hatred for Isolde Coin without fear; not that it fazes her. She presses a button behind the television screen. I cover my ears immediately-God, I hate her stupid sirens-and suddenly, everyone goes silent.

They know the punishment for speaking out after a siren blares. Death. Our leader (_not my mother!_) continues speaking:

"I refused to disclose this information as a note to all of us. Rebellion always has consequences, and they're never meant to be pleasant."

_No, really?_

"If you think this is unfair, glance back at the screen; my own daughter wasn't exempt from these consequences. Life is all about sacrificing for the good of others. Today, we'll honor the sacrifice of a young man or woman. So please, stay to watch how the battle unfolds."

_Or else_, her stoic expression says.

The ruined city we live underneath haunts me like no other place. A gravesite for millions of people who died in the Dark Days. Whoever dies in Thirteen's Battle will only become the latest casualty. But rarely do you have a casualty with an audience.

Eyes on the projector screen.

Three beeps follow, and Raines and Electra set out in search of each other.

Oh, why bother hoping? My sister's eyes are bloodshot; her face white as snow. Her life could end soon, even if she wins again. She coughs violently with enough force to throw her onto her back in the concrete. Like a trooper, she rises. Electra continues on- and Raines suddenly appears.

She fires at him, the bow humming like a rubber band. An arrow lands in Raines' left ankle. Though he cries out, he trudges forward to my sister, until he's close enough to strike her where she stands.

I hear a kneecap break.

As she's placing another arrow on her bowstring (she must think she can still shoot him from such near proximity), Electra's body starts jerking uncontrollably. It all happens in slow motion to me; her tumbling again. The bow flying from her grasp. But she doesn't recover.

Though Raines barely did anything, he's defeated Electra. My last true family member is dead. They say twins share a connection where if one hurts, so does the other.

Well, that's exactly how it goes. I feel dead, too.

* * *

I stand by the manhole where Raines is supposed to come down through. He makes his way slowly, carrying Electra's body.

Eerie. A source of misery. I start bawling when I see her.

"Alma… I'm so sorry," Raines tells me.

"H-hey, y-you didn't have a- a ch-choice, R-Raines," I stutter, mustering up my gentlest voice. "And it was the plague that killed her. Not you."

He nods grimly. "I guess you're right about that. She looked awful. But, I _did_ kill Xavier…"

"I-I'm not angry with _you_, okay? Sometimes things happen that we don't have control over. Your survival instincts kicked in."

"Then, we're good?"

"Clear as crystal," I assure him. We embrace for a quiet moment, enjoying new friendship. He's like a little brother I wanna protect. With my life. If I can help it, he won't ever suffer again.

Now for my next mission: to locate District 13's _illustrious_ leader. It's no shock that I find her inside the office. No tears paint her face, but her eyes are encompassed by circles. The woman hardly sleeps. I know she's a private person, so she could've easily had her major cry session some other time, when I wasn't around. I doubt it, though. She knew Electra would die. She _knew._

"There she is," my mother says. "District Thirteen's future leader. Just how I planned it."

"You… you planned for me to succeed you all along." The thought actually makes sense. Jason and Electra always did say they liked the idea of me as District 13's president; they told our mother this, too. Neither of them wanted to lead. Up until now, I'd forgotten how excited I was for presidential life.

"Yes," she replies. "Even when you were little, I saw that you had loads of potential; that you were willing to do what was necessary. Whereas Jason… Jason was too nice. He wouldn't even kill a spider. Your father and sister were the same. You and I share a determination which they lacked. So you can understand why I thought they'd be terrible presidents. Unfortunately, you were the youngest."

_Oh no. She didn't… _"What happened?" I asked.

"Those injections Theseus, Jason, and Electra had didn't contain any real medicine. Whenever they were scheduled, I swapped their syringes for shots of plain liquid."

Devious. If I had any sympathy left for her, it just went out the door.

I feel inside my pocket, where I keep a knife for emergencies. "You know what? I'm finished making excuses for you, _Isolde_. Now I see exactly what a heartless wretch you are."

"Hey," she says. "What's done is done, and even if I wanted to, I can't change the past." Apparently having said her piece, Isolde turns her back to file through some papers. Here's the cue I've been waiting for.

The moment I whip out my knife and fire it towards her.


	8. Chapter 8

District 13 is reeling when they discover that our president is dead. Horrified when they learn she was murdered; killed by a knife wound in her throat.

Of course, I'm not dumb enough to leave the knife with me. I buried it aboveground while on sentry duty. People try consoling me all morning, and I play along. Thank them for their kindness. But now my real adventure begins, as I take my rightful place in our district's history. Their youngest president ever. I'll have older Council members that advise me, sort of like the presidential cabinet they used to have in North America. Because of my age, the Council is adding five extra members. Doesn't mean I'm not feeling jittery about it. Leading. Such a gigantic responsibility for any seventeen-year-old to shoulder.

Um… I guess it's too late to bring her back, isn't it?

Oh no. _Now _it's hit me. The severity of what I've done. Regret and shame are closing in from all sides. What would Electra say? Or Dad or Jason?

They'd never speak to me again if they knew.

I wait in _her_ office with one of her Council members, Ned Drixton. He's a trustworthy man; forty-eight years old; sort of an honorary family member, really. He even lets me call him by his first name, and he's given me a nickname, inspired by my hair color.

"Are you nervous, Red?" he asks. "You're taking a big step today."

"My family's been leading the district for decades. I just hope I can live up to the Coin standards."

And that I can live with myself. A killer. Finally, I understand Electra's agony. Taking someone out of the world, minus any guilt, requires a stone heart. God forbid the day should come when I become that kind of villain who doesn't feel.

Ned loops his stringy arm over my shoulders. "Hey, you're not alone. You'll have more help than you know what to do with."

"Yeah," I agree, chuckling. It feels unnatural as it leaves me. Forced.

"It's high time we head into the commons area, _Miss President_," he says. Emphasis on my new title.

"Technically, I'm not official yet," I joke.

"But I like the sound of it. President Alma Coin." He tucks a strand of messy gray hair behind his ear. Opens the door. There's no going back now.

So we take my first steps into the future, without my parents. Without my brother or sister. Without my dream guy. I'm gonna step up and accept the role that's been ordained for me since day one.

When we enter the commons area, it buzzes with mixed emotions. Melancholy. Pride. Sadness. Hope. And they're all waiting to watch me take over. To determine if I'll become another Isolde Coin.

They don't know I already have.

Ned escorts me to M-I mean, _my _podium, from which I'll make addresses. He gets the first word. More than that, really. If I were incapacitated for any reason (fancy way to say 'if/when I die'), he's the new president.

"Attention! Attention!" he declares, gesturing his hands in my direction. "You know this young woman as Alma Coin, daughter of the late Isolde Coin. Our government demands that leadership be passed on hereditarily; so, she stands here, ready to lead. Now she must take the presidential oath."

He produces a shabby, gray book; which my Grandpa Dex owned. His predecessor-who-shall-remain-nameless became leader with her hand on it. And so will I. Tradition equals sanity. Tradition, tradition! Yes, repeating it makes me feel better.

_Murderer. _

"Repeat after me," Ned says: "I, Alma Coin…"

"I, Alma Coin…"

"Swear to lead District Thirteen with my heart, mind and soul."

"Swear to lead District Thirteen with my heart, mind and soul," I vow.

"I will put the district's needs above my own," he says.

"I will put the district's needs above my own."

Which is what I accomplished when I threw that blade yesterday. She gradually, painfully, killed our family without a second thought. She offered up two young people for the slaughter. Who's to say she wouldn't have exterminated hundreds of others?

Okay, okay. I won't apologize, then. I won't. That's right. I did everybody a favor.

_But she was your mother. _Without her, there would've been no Alma Coin. I'm happy to be alive, sure. My family doesn't define me.

"…I will commemorate the rebellion in everything I do."

I echo Ned like a good girl; calmly, and one hundred percent innocent.

"I will make decisions to the best of my abilities."

"I will make decisions to the best of my abilities," I repeat.

"And most importantly, I swear loyalty towards my fellow citizens."

Yeah, I do. I sincerely do. We're not much, but we're a thriving community; and preserving it is my goal. I won't let District 13 disappear. Whatever the Capitol might do if they find out we're underground, Grandpa Dex worked too hard for this. It's all so exciting/scary.

"Without further ado," Ned says, "I'll turn the mike over to your new leader!"

Tiny steps lead me ahead, under a stifling podium spotlight.

"Hello, District Thirteen," I say. "I'm grateful for each and every one of you here today, during this horrible period in my life. But it's also a period of change, as I assume the presidency. And my first act is to demolish Thirteen's Battle."

Applause erupts.

"-And of course, while I go about my duties, I can't forget that justice has to be served. When I catch the person who took away my mother, there will be a severe punishment. You can't hide forever."

Easier said than done. That was more for my own benefit. What happens now, though? I frame somebody? Crap. I should've dropped poison in her drink; so they'd assume she died from a natural cause.

_Dig your way out of the hole some other day_, I think to myself.

"Tragedies aside, I hope I become the leader you need. We'll get through it all together. I promise. Long live District Thirteen!" I add to the end. For old time's sake.

Their natural reply: "And long live the Coins!"

The old Alma Coin is dead and gone. But Alma Coin, president of District 13, has awakened, and she's here to stay.


End file.
